There’s a singing that sometimes fills the air when you’re outside in Hermit’s Cove. I think it comes from the Quiet. This being a foreign concept in Los Angeles, I shall explain:Imagine, when you walk out of a concert, and your ears are ringing. Now, imagine that you can’t hear anything. No drunken concert-fans, obsessed with ignoring the music they claim to love, screaming their laughter as they puke on each other’s flip flops. No cars honking at said drunken fans, urging them to move out of the way, lest they be killed. No, its silent. No, really, silent. There’s no traffic, no cars at all. No machines, no planes, no power stations, no gas stations, no grocery stores, no whatever-the-fuck strange thing you have next to your home in the sprawl that buzzes, hums and talks to itself in the middle of the night. Not a single yapping dog or rich couple fucking.

Got all that? Now, imagine that your ears are still ringing from the concert. Only there’s no other sound to pay attention to.

You get caught up in the singing.

At least, I’ve found that the residue hum from the L.A. Concert is pleasing and tonal. It has waves that you can ride upon, this singing. It rises and falls, and hardly seems to fade away before its back again, building to a strong chord.

Sort of like Iron and Wine.

I got a new album today and let it trip me out. Also, here is my Dad.

And Merry Christmas.